Poem: A Fine Line

There is a fine line,

a line made of silly string

that seperates the tired from

insane. The cracking and

smashing and coliding of

brains... blue was always

such a lovely color.

But below this fine line

made of silly string is...

a blankness of white, a

decay of thoughtless thoughts,

ideas and verbal commands

floating aimlessly into the...

nothing we fear. A sad story for

the crippled... broken bones

and shattered souls, blind eyes

pirced with needles... bent to

the left to create a "L"... that was for you.

Above this fine line made

of silly string is... unknowing

colors blending with eachother

to create... gray... it was

always gray. The color of solitude,

wall on all four sides, faces

with strict intensions, voices

speaking speaking languages unknown

to middle class citizens.

Liquid of hot soil boiling up

eye to wake... to think... to be.

There is such a fine line...

a line made of silly string...

and it snaps each and everytime.